


Mate For Life

by eerian_sadow



Series: Species Imperative [11]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Other, Plug and Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerian_sadow/pseuds/eerian_sadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birds of prey aren't the only things that mate for life.  One mech will cross the universe to be reunited with his mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He lay in the berth, tangled in the glowing webs of Blaster’s data transfer and interface cables, satisfied and content in the wake of their most recent—and last, for an unknown length of time—lovemaking. He hated to think about that; was, in fact, actively trying not to think about that. He didn’t want to dwell on the fact that his lover would be gone by midday tomorrow.

Blaster tightened his arms and cables around him as he caught onto his lover’s thoughts. “It won’t be that bad, Tracks. Just a quick run out to Delta Draconis to set up some listening equipment. We’ll be back before the Decepticons even know we’ve left.”

Tracks tightened his arms as well, a physical reflection of how little he wanted to let the other mech go. “I know that your mission is not supposed to be particularly dangerous or difficult. I simply cannot escape a feeling of impending doom.”

The communication specialist gave a soft, comforting croon. “It’ll be fine, bright spark. Swiftwind and I have done this a thousand times. We’ll be fine.”

“And I trust your judgment, songbird.” The warrior said, leaning up to nuzzle against Blaster’s faceplates. “But you know I’ll worry until you’re safely back home.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure we’re back before you have a chance to worry.” Blaster gave him a winning smile.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Despite Blaster’s reassuring words, Tracks couldn’t shake his worry. The blue mech found himself worrying and fretting about his lover at the most inopportune moments, including during a brief border skirmish with a Decepticon patrol. His worry increased ten-fold when he had nothing else to do while he sat in the repair bay for four cycles.

Ultra Magnus stepping into the medbay, looking as if his best friend had died, did nothing to relieve his fears.

“Tracks.”

“Sir.” Tracks did his best to keep his worry off his faceplates.

The unit commander rubbed his hands over his faceplates in a tired gesture. “I’m sorry, Tracks. Two cycles ago, we lost contact with the scout ship Prima. A rescue and recovery team was sent out to discover their status and reported back a joor ago. The Prima is gone, Tracks. Blaster was able to leave a message pod, but the ship and crew are gone.”

“Gone?” The warrior felt his processor stall. Blaster was gone? “How?”

“We don’t know. The data in the message pod was corrupted. The analyst could only make out a few words.” Magnus sank down heavily onto the berth next to him. “I’m certain you can guess what they were.”

“They were attacked by Decepticons.” He felt hollow at the idea. He had known it was going to happen and he still wasn’t prepared for it. “Were they… Was the rescue team able to recover the crew?”

It was a small hope, but it was something. He would be able to lay his lover to rest if they had, to give himself a chance to say goodbye. And there was always the chance that one of the symbiotes had survived; most mechs had no idea how to check their vitals if they were still attached to their host. He would gladly reformat himself to support them if necessary—and they would need each other emotionally as well, with Blaster gone.

“I’m sorry, they didn’t.” The larger mech’s shoulders slumped in defeat and sadness. “Defensor reported that there was nothing to salvage.”

Nothing to salvage. No parts, no debris worth bringing back and melting down. No body to lay to rest and say goodbye to. Tracks felt the numbness in his processor overtake his spark and he collapsed back onto the medical berth in despair.


	2. Chapter 2

He moved through his duties like a drone, uncaring and unfeeling. Nothing was right anymore without the bright tones of Blaster’s voice ringing through the command center. His berth was cold and achingly lonely during recharge. Nothing at all felt like it mattered, not even the war. Only the knowledge that Ultra Magnus _needed_ him, for more than just fire support during combat, kept him from sinking into stasis lock and not coming out again.

The cycles blended into each other without much change.

The base was too quiet without Blaster. There were no more encouraging words at just the right moment for mechs or femmes who had gotten too far down, no more symbiotes running through the halls on errands, no more impromptu celebrations for any reason beyond the fact that they were still alive. No more softly whispered endearments at any moment Blaster could steal for him.

He missed his lover’s voice the most.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 

Magnus looked as broken down and defeated as Tracks felt. Ten cycles without several of his top officers and no chance at getting them back was wearing him down. It didn’t seem like this base would last much longer.

Tracks was jolted out of his darker thoughts by the voice of the femme who had been moved into Blaster’s position.

“Ultra Magnus, sir?” The replacement communications officer sounded nervous as she spoke to the large mech.

“What is it, Splice?” the commander replied.

“Sir, we’ve just received a signal from the _Prima_.” Splice sounded utterly confused.

“That’s impossible,” Hot Spot said, preventing any reply Ultra Magnus would have made. “The _Prima_ is gone. We searched for two cycles.”

“It’s signed with Blaster’s personal ID code,” Splice retorted. “And I would know it anywhere; he trained me.”

“Stop, both of you.” Ultra Magnus’ tone brooked no argument. “Splice, play the message.”

“Yes sir.” The femme tapped a button on her console and Blaster’s voice filled the command center.

_“To Ultra Magnus of Autobot Combat Fortress Metroplex, this is Autobot Blaster._

_Sir, I hope this message reaches you before you’ve wasted too many resources on a search and rescue mission. The_ Prima _is …well, I don’t know exactly where she is, except drifting through space near an uncharted planetoid. Our engines are disabled, our structural integrity is questionable at best and most of the crew is offline. Our locator beacon is active, on the off chance that an Autobot friendly ship comes along, but that seems like futile hope at best._

_I’ve attached a more complete report via text file, with some speculation on what Rewind thinks could have happened during the Decepticon attack. It reduces down to some bad news, though. We aren’t coming home. Even if we knew where we were, we don’t have the fuel left to do more than control our crash into the planetoid._

_If you could, sir, tell Tracks I’m sorry. Blaster out.”_

Tracks felt like he was deactivating.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Distantly, he was aware of music in the background. It was soft and gentle; the kind of thing Blaster would have played to help him relax after a particularly strenuous battle or for one of the symbiotes if they were having trouble settling down for the night. But he knew it wasn’t Blaster playing the music.

Blaster wasn’t coming home.

He wailed in grief. It was worse now, knowing his lover was still alive somewhere than it had been when they thought he was deactivated. He had thought that nothing could be worse than never seeing Blaster again, but knowing his lover was out there and that he would never see him again was unthinkable agony.

Abruptly, the music switched off.

“Tracks.”

He ignored Metroplex and burrowed further into his berth.

“You must get up, Tracks. You have been in stasis for five cycles.” The huge mech’s voice was everywhere, invading his room and preventing him from dropping offline—again—in order to ignore him. “Scamper is waiting with a ration for you.”

“I would rather starve into deactivation.” At least then he wouldn’t feel the pain anymore.

“Tracks. We understand that you are hurting, but you must get up. You cannot continue on like this.”

“I would rather deactivate.” He rolled over, hiding his face against the wall. It didn’t really shield him from the other mech—how could you hide from someone you lived inside, after all—but it gave him the illusion. “Why can’t you understand that I want to deactivate?”

“I do understand.” Metroplex’s voice was less booming now and more soothing, almost like a warm thermal wrap tossed around his shoulders. “You are not the only mech to have suffered such great losses since the war began. I still mourn the loss of my beloved Tyger Pax. But she would not have wanted me to live and deactivate in mourning, and Blaster would not want that for you either.”

“Blaster isn’t here. He’ll never be here again.”

“But Blaster is not deactivated. That gives you hope that I could never have.”

Tracks didn’t move when the door opened but when smaller arms wrapped around him, he leaned into Scamper’s comforting embrace. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Have you gone mad, Tracks?” Ultra Magnus’ voice was incredulous.

“Very possibly, sir. But if it were Elita-1, could you leave her out there without even trying to find her?” Tracks knew he was playing dirty, but it was a valid point. Ultra Magnus had been in love with the femme for as long as anyone could remember.

Magnus frowned. “You don’t even know where to begin looking.”

“Well, I had thought I would start at Delta Draconis. Even a damaged transwarp engine will leave a directional trail.” It wasn’t the sanest idea he had ever had, but Metroplex was right. There was still hope for Blaster, as long as he was willing to reach for it.

“You know I can’t spare a ship or a crew for you. You’ll be on your own.”

Tracks did his best not to let his surprise show. He hadn’t expected Ultra Magnus to give in nearly this easily. “All I need is a two-mech scout shuttle.”

The commander scrubbed his faceplates with his hands. “I’m only letting you go because I know you’ll sneak out and go anyway. At least this way I know you won’t get caught up with mercenaries or Decepticons.”

The warrior made a face. “As if I would ever stoop so low.”

Magnus chuckled. “You’d be surprised what love will make a mech do. I’ll have Met unlock one of the scout shuttles for you, but I can’t give you much in the way of supplies. You’re going to be on your own out there.”

He had expected that. “Yes sir. I’m prepared for that.”

“Then go find him and bring him home.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As Blaster had said, it was a short trip to the Delta Draconis system. Barely even worth sending an entire scout ship out to, but it wasn’t safe to send unarmed shuttles on spying expeditions. It was doubly unsafe to send them out when there was no one else who could come after them.

Tracks was utterly alone on his mission.

For a moment, he wished the shuttle was sophisticated enough to have a basic AI installed. Nothing much, just something he could talk to from time to time to hear a voice that wasn’t his. He was fairly certain he’d need that sometime soon. As it was, he found himself issuing orders to the computer out loud—already—just to keep the silence from becoming too oppressive.

“Computer, begin scan on local area. Search for transwarp engine signatures that would have originated from Autobot ships.” It was a long shot, since transwarp technology didn’t really differ from one faction to the other, but it was worth a shot. Autobots did tend to focus on the maintenance and upgrades of such systems, since they had so many non-combatants that had to run from battle frequently.

The console chirped an affirmative, and Tracks settled down to record the beginning of his journey in the ship’s log. If he met the same fate as Blaster, he wanted his message pod to be a bit more useful if possible. When he was finished with that, he would go lay down on the recharge berth in the back of the shuttle and get some rest. He could go over the data with a clearer processor tomorrow.

The warrior was relating the last few points of his day into the recorder when the alert light on his console caught his attention. His gaze flicked from it to the viewscreeen in time to see a Decepticon warship powering up its forward guns.

“Oh _slag_.”


	3. Chapter 3

He woke without any clear memory of having gone offline. That was enough to jolt his systems into full battle-mode and completely bypass his standard boot cycle. He was off the berth, drawing his weapon and looking for cover before he had even looked around. When he had ducked down behind some sort of computer console, Tracks took a moment to take in his situation.

His shuttle had been fired on by a Decepticon warship and was most likely in pieces. He had been taken prisoner by an unknown party—likely the same Decepticons who had attacked him. He didn’t seem to be well guarded, but that was a situation that could always change. He had sustained unknown damages, and his systems were currently alerting him to a processor overheat warning due to lack of cooling systems. 

That was not a good sign.

“Hey, sorry about that,” an unknown voice said. “Didn’t mean to bring you back online already; you need your rest. I was just checking the repairs to your cooling system. You were pretty fragged up when Cosmos and Bulkhead brought you in.”

Tracks’ energon went cold in his lines. He wasn’t alone in the room. “Who are you?”

“Beachcomber,” the mech said without hesitation. “Autobot scientist specializing in the study of non-Cybertronian geology.”

“You’re an Autobot?” The idea seemed far too good to be true.

“Since the day the Prime first stood against Megatron. You can come out. I’m unarmed.”

Hesitantly, Tracks leaned around the console to verify the other mech’s words. A Decepticon wouldn’t hesitate to shoot as soon as his head was visible, but it was a risk he had to take. 

Standing next to a single medical berth was a small, spindly mech. The other mech’s arms were spread wide, displaying an obviously unarmed state, and his lip components were set in a soft smile. Pale blue optics met his and Tracks was almost painfully reminded of the crystal blue of Eject and Rewind’s optics. He caught sight of the symbol denoting their shared faction as he looked away.

“Hey.” Light footsteps crossed the room to him. “Hey, are you all right?”

The warrior tried desperately to get a handle on his grief. Blaster wasn’t dead and Rewind, at least, wasn’t dead. He just had to find them. 

“Come on; let’s get you back on the berth.” Beachcomber wrapped a hand around one of his arms and tugged gently. “You can tell me while I go over your readouts.”

Tracks allowed the smaller mech to help him stand and lead him back to the berth. “I don’t need to talk about it.”

“We all need to talk about it sometime,” the scientist replied. “Sometimes this whole universe is just too much. I won’t push you, but the offer is there when you need it.”

The larger mech was relieved that Beachcomber wasn’t going to push him. He didn’t want to talk about Blaster right now. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. “Where are we?”

“We are on board the Autobot science vessel _Expanding Horizon_ , currently in a carefully controlled semi-decaying orbit around the planet Quintessa.” Beachcomber plugged a cable into the sensor display of the medical berth and made a thoughtful noise. “Your coolant systems still haven’t come back online. Wheeljack’s going to need to come down here and take a look at them again. You okay with that?”

He thought that over for a moment. Blaster had mentioned someone named Wheeljack on several occasions in association with maintenance for his symbiosis systems and a few other upgrades. If this was the same mech, he had no reason not to trust him.

And well, it sounded like he had already been repaired by the mech before and he wasn’t deactivated yet. “That’s fine. Will I have to wait long?”

“Depends on how deep he is in his current project.” The geologist shrugged. “He and Bulkhead are working on some propulsion system that would, theoretically, transport us to the other side of the galaxy in a cycle or so. I can bring you some fuel if you want while you wait, though. Your reserves are pretty low.”

“That would be fine.” Once the other mech brought it up, Tracks realized just how empty his fuel tanks were. “And at some point, I would like to know just how I got here.”

“Sure. But Bulkhead or Cosmos would be better equipped to tell you since they brought you in.” Beachcomber gave him a small smile. “I’m just playing medic’s assistant.”

“Of course.” He did his best not to show his disappointment as the other mech turned away and headed for the door. “Thank you.”

“Hey, it’s no problem.” The smaller mech turned back to him and gave him a bright smile. “By the way, the others have all been asking what we’re supposed to call you.”

“Tracks,” the warrior replied. “My designation is Tracks.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The sound of a door opening some time later brought Tracks out of his standby mode. He checked his chronometer as he brought his optics online, surprised to see that he had been resting for the better part of the cycle. Apparently, Wheeljack had been deeper in his project than Tracks had thought he would be.

He looked toward the door, suddenly nervous. He didn’t know anything about the mechs he had fallen in with and, even if Beachcomber had been nice enough, there was no guarantee that any of these mechs would like him or want to help him.

Two mechs were approaching him, not just the one he had been expecting. The one in the lead was roughly the same height as Tracks, perhaps a few centimeters shorter, but he was thin and looked fragile. He looked like he was little more than a protoform with a few silvery-white protective plates—including a mask that obscured his facial features—and a set of small wings on his back. Idly, Tracks wondered if this mech had installed a flying modification as well.

The second mech was huge. Tracks wasn’t sure he had ever seen a mech of this stature before, and he had been in combat with Megatron more than once. If the large mech had been speaking animatedly with the smaller, the warrior might have assumed he was nothing more than some sort of cargo drone. The shape of his frame and thick green and silver armor plates he sported didn’t help the idea go away.

“Oh, hey! You’re awake!” The smaller mech’s face mask retracted to reveal a light bar where a mouth would be on a normal mech. That was unusual enough, but the light flashed as he vocalized and that struck Tracks as truly bizarre. “I mean, I know ‘Comber said you were awake earlier, but I didn’t expect it right now. How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” he answered honestly. “Beachcomber said that I’d been rescued, but I don’t even remember what happened. Or how I got here.”

“Well, that’s not a surprise,” the large mech said. “You were so deep into stasis that Cosmos’s scanners didn’t even register spark energy when we found you. We just… we thought there might be someone back home who would want to know what happened to you so we brought you in. I thought I was seeing things when you moved the first time.”

Tracks frowned at the large mech’s words. They’d thought he was deactivated? That was a disquieting thought.

“Don’t mind Bulkhead,” the smaller mech said. “He gets excited and doesn’t always think to be tactful with his words.”

“Hey! I was tactful! At least I didn’t say that we thought he was just scrap and we picked him up during a salvage run.” Bulkhead crossed his arms and made an indignant sound.

“You see?” The smaller mech gave him a look that could have been amused, though Tracks couldn’t really tell thanks to the lack of standard facial features. “I’m Wheeljack, by the way. Head of this science team and acting medical officer of the _Expanding Horizon_.”

“Acting medical officer?” Tracks couldn’t hide the horror in his voice at the idea. He hadn’t even been worked on by an actual medic?

Wheeljack shrugged and began deploying tools from his fingertips. “Our assigned medic contracted cosmic rust about a vorn ago. Her spark and personality matrix are in storage, but she’s not exactly in a position to be working on patients. Don’t worry; I trained as a field medic when the war started.”

Tracks knew he wasn’t hiding his discomfort at the situation very well. “Forgive my reaction. I’m not accustomed to being worked on by mechs who aren’t certified medics.”

“Oh I’m certified,” the smaller mech said, beginning to detach armor plating from Track’s side. “Ratchet—you know, the Prime’s medic Ratchet—and I trained in the same class. So I’m fully capable, it’s just not my primary specialty. Not that many of us get to use our primary specialties anymore.”

The warrior didn’t miss the wistful tone of Wheeljack’s voice or the way Bulkhead’s hand came to rest carefully on the smaller mech’s back. He thought of all the times that Blaster had stood at his side, weapon in hand, and felt a pang of guilt at his attitude. This Autobot was simply doing what he had to, and what he could, to ensure the survival of his crew—just like every other Autobot left in the galaxies. He had no right to undermine or belittle, just because he wasn’t a full medic.

“I apologize,” Tracks said softly. “I spoke out of turn.”

“It’s nothing,” Wheeljack said with a shake of his head. He pulled open the cover over Track’s cooling systems and Tracks felt a few sparks drop onto the berth next to him. “Well, I don’t know what you did here, cause it wasn’t this melted last time I looked. Tell me if you get any status changes.”

The warrior nodded, glad the other mech wasn’t going to dwell on it.


End file.
